Gigue No 2 In D Minor
by Mudpie
Summary: On a cold morning, Duo seeks the warmth of his favorite love, set to Bach.


Gigue No. 2 In D Minor

AN: I strongly advise you to download Cello Suite No. 2 by Bach (played by Yo Yo Ma) to go along with this. You'll just get it better. Trust me. 

Disclaimer: I don't own Bach, I don't own Gundam Wing, I don't own nothin' but the clothes on my back, and sometimes I doubt that too. 

A campus, coated in a fresh dusting of snow, comes into view over the horizon. A slim, black-clad figure makes its way across one of the many tree-filled courtyards, crunching through the snow with the air of a child eating its favorite cookie. 

Crossing the courtyard, he wrenches open an age-blackened, elegant door and furtively slips inside. He shuts it slowly and turns to examine his haven. 

---- 

Duo leaned against the ancient door and sighed with relief. He had made it, and was sure that no one had followed. 

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he crosses the gleaming wooden floors to a heavy, shoulder high case. With utmost care, as if removing the Holy Grail from its resting place, he unclasps the buckles on one side and reverently removes the dark, passionately red cello from its case. 

Gently, he wraps his fingers around the scroll to support the cello's exquisite weight and reaches into a side pocket, unsheathing the dark bow, strung with fine white hairs, like a sword. He then places it on the plain black music stand, where pages of sheet music have collected a slight dust from disuse. 

Duo then tosses his chestnut plait with a flick of his head and moves to sit in the hard plastic chair, the sort that has haunted music students since the beginning of time. 

Again, he lifts the glorious instrument with the reverence usually used for ancient undersea artifacts. With practiced ease, he manipulates the silver knob at the bottom until the endpin slides out a measured amount. 

With a deep sigh, the Deathscythe pilot lifts the bow from its resting place and grips it expertly, securely in his right hand. With his left he reaches out to unfold the pages of music, sending motes of dust into the early morning light. The sheet music is filled with chaotic, fast paced scales and soul-rending chords that scream silently from the ordered black lines, begging to be set free into the air. 

Without tearing his eyes from the masterpiece before him, Duo deftly removes rosin from its tin and rubs it along the length of his bow, smiling faintly as the musky, sweet odor permeates the air around him. 

Violet eyes shining with anticipation, he places the rosin single-handedly back in its tin and places the small, round container gently on the worn wooden floor beside his chair. 

Delicately, Duo draws his bow across the thin, tenuous A string, allowing it to sing its clear sound to the empty room, and to the silence of the snow-coated morning before him. 

With a frown he reaches down and twists the fine-tuning peg slightly to the left, and repeats this process for each string, enjoying the crisp bite of horsehair into metal strings. 

Finally, the instrument expertly tuned, he turns to the music and inhales deeply, shutting his lively eyes. They snap open moments later, focused furiously on the music before him. The bow sings across the strings, allowing the first rapid notes to fire out. 

He is completely lost in this fiery, ardent song, brows knit in concentration, eyes calm and fingers zooming from string to string, unaided by guides. 

Duo's heart begins to pound as he plays racing scales, watching the progressive notes as they run up and down the G major scale, rapid as rainfall and delicate like a snowflake. 

The music reaches its crescendo, and Duo is panting, sixteenth notes escaping his frantic soul and pouring from finely boned fingers. 

The music deepens, a lover's final farewell, and flies up and down octaves in the blink of an eye 

After the last heart-wrenching chord, his fingers shaking, he allows a final, pure and bell like D to vibrate out, trilling with the passion of the moment. 

Spent now, the young pilot rests his chin against the top curve of this graceful instrument. 

In prolonged movements, he guides the cello into its severe, molded prison, hands caressing it as he wishes a lover would caress his own body. The bow recieves the same tender treatment. 

Duo, now weary, eyes bright with the exhiliration of this achievement--not many can play a Bach Suite on their first try--wanders out the elderly door and shuts it behind him with a tug. 

The only evidence of this affair is a lone tin of rosin, resting innocently beside the cold, stiff chair. 

----  
Love it? Hate it? Crying hysterically? Laughing hysterically? Lemme know! 


End file.
